In Over Your Head Yet, Darling?
by Lightnin Spark
Summary: Holmes had never given much thought to his own death. The Woman certainly didn't have time to either. But as he struggled to keep his head above the icy water and watched her do the same, he realized that he was about to lose something far more important than just The Professor's game. Adler/Holmes. A colaboration with Lady Kyree.
1. Chapter 1

**Dedicated to the lovely Lady Kyree, of whom I collaborated with to bring this story to you. Thank you so much! It's been great working with you, and I hope to continue doing so.**

. . .

"Now at this point you may be asking yourselves: how on earth did he deduce that? Simple really, laughingly so; I made my way back to the Yard and requested to see Reordan's machine. Near the part that was stolen was a bit of thread that could have only come from Handson's and Hamson's Fine Suits; they, after all, are the only ones to use a combination of cotton and wool in their threading. I stopped by yesterday and persuaded the desk minder to allow me a look at the addresses of their customers to whom they ship their hand-tailored suits. I found the most remote, located on the eastern coast north of Ipswich. So, then, I—"

"Holmes, please—"

"Quiet Watson," Holmes responded quietly, though his face remained lit up with excitement as he told the tale of his brilliance. "I called upon the Irregulars (a group of the most wonderful homeless children, Ms. Morstan) and they did their usual searching about until they found a rather peculiar map from—"

"Holmes!" Watson interrupted rather sternly, not looking quite as amused as his fiancé. The couple stood at the door of 221B Baker in their full winter dress, along with their packed suitcases. A cab was already waiting for them outside, but a certain detective clearly wasn't about to let them leave him so easily. "We understand that you're a showoff and enjoy making others look like idiots, but you do realize the train is leaving the station in less than an hour?"

Mary (whose arm was wrapped around the doctor's) gently put a hand to his chest, a small smile twitching at her lips. "Oh, come now John, you're much too mean to him! I think this is all rather fascinating, actually, Mr. Holmes."

"Why thank you, dear," Holmes replied with a surprised smile. He gestured to the lady, grinning at Watson. "You know, it's quite nice to know that someone around here appreciates my talents." He then kissed her hand, a grin still plastered on his face.

Mary blushed with a light laugh and delighted smile. Watson, however, sighed in exasperation and fixed his friend one of those 'you aren't coming with us, old boy' looks. Holmes ignored this entirely; after all, he surely had the doctor right where he wanted him. With Mary right there, how could he refuse? He couldn't, and that was the plan.

"Well you see, having formed this important lead and the location of this facility," he began, tilting his head slightly to the left and narrowing his eyes at a point past Watson's head, "I was hoping to go and take a look at it."

"Sounds very interesting," Mary said, glancing up at her husband to be, her interest honestly piqued.

Holmes watched his friend visibly suppress a groan as he no doubt realized the detective was not planning on giving up. Watson puffed up his cheeks with air and looked to the ceiling, letting out the breath when he returned his warning gaze to Holmes. Holmes retaliated with a pleading, wide-eyed stare. Their exchanged looks conveyed their silent conversation.

_Please stay?_

_Holmes, no means NO._

_But Watson, how dull and mundane a trip to visit her parents must be when I'm going off to uncover such a mystery-_

_NO!_

Abruptly ending the brief silent exchange, the doctor gave him a forcedly cheery grin as he put on his top hat, clearly ready to make his escape out the front door. "I'm glad you'll have something to entertain yourself with. You must tell me how it goes once we return on Sunday."

Holmes' face fell slightly, hiding his hurt by quickly shifting his gaze to the patterned rug beneath them. He cleared his throat loudly and raised his brows. "Hmm… yes, I shall. Don't worry."

"Perhaps you could tell us all about it over dinner?" the soon-to-be Mrs. Watson added kindly, somewhat oblivious to the situation between the two men as she looked to the cab outside distractedly. "I'm sure John will add the adventure to his novels."

A thick silence passed before Holmes answered. "Oh, um… yes. That would be…" he looked up, shifting on the balls of his feet, "That would be quite nice. I look forward to it." Desperate now, he attempted to shoot another look in his best friend's direction.

Watson, thoroughly missing this, finally turned to the door. Holmes watched in utter defeat as he opened it with his leather gloved hand and welcomed in the freezing January wind_. Mission has failed. The Doctor has been lost. _"Mind that you don't forget your revolver this time, or the bullets," Watson added as an afterthought, glancing over his shoulder as he let Mary exit in front of him. He lowered his voice as he turned back to face his friend, "I don't want to hear about or see any terrible injuries when I get back."

"That was a one-time blunder, Mother Hen; don't fret. My suit case is already packed with three, all loaded." _Lies._

"Goodbye, Mr. Holmes!" Mary called from outside, bringing her hand out of her muffler to wave her goodbye.

The detective gave her a wave of farewell in response, though once she turned to board the cab, his hand dropped immediately. He turned again to Watson, attempting to trap him with another pleading stare.

Watson rolled his eyes again. "That look doesn't work on me, you know." However, his expression softened slightly. "It's only two days, you realize."

Holmes sniffed, now rather put-out as he realized the doctor was not budging. "Yes, well, do enjoy your time away from me," he replied in a detached tone, not quite realizing he'd said that aloud until several seconds afterwards.

"Holmes," Watson sighed heavily, a trace of guilt in his expression. Holmes simply chose to cross his arms in the most nonchalant manner he could attempt. "Look at you; you're acting like a child."

"Am not."

"That's exactly the response of a five year old!"

"And how would you know that, hmm?" the detective asked, lifting his head.

"Because—No, I'm not going to argue with you about that." Watson glanced anxiously back at the cab parked in front of the flat. When he returned to speak once again, his face had softened, lips suddenly thinning in slight worry as he looked at his friend. "Just… just be careful, alright? I won't be here to back you up—"

"There were extra seats available. It can be arranged, you know—"

"It _can't_," Watson stressed, giving his friend a hopeless look when Holmes looked like a wounded dog. "I'm simply asking that you mind yourself. Please, be careful. He's Moriarty for goodness' sake! You'll get the information you need from that place and then you'll leave."

"There's a gun in your suitcase if you need it," Holmes responded quietly.

Watson gave a brief nod, picking up his suitcase in one hand. He locked eyes with his best friend for a moment as he took a step out the door. "I'll see you in less than two days."

Holmes returned his nod, stiffly. "Mm. Right."

"Goodbye, then?"

"Good… goodbye."

After pausing while closing the door to half-heartedly attempt a last smile at Holmes, the doctor fully turned to make his leave. And with that, John Watson was gone.

. . .

_It's the Doctor's own loss, truly_, Holmes grumbled to himself, walking briskly through the half-foot of snow as he consulted his map. The light flakes brushed up around his ankles, dampening about two inches off the hem of his trousers. He it paid no mind, though, far too distracted by his disgruntled train of rambling thoughts, _It won't be long before I lose the man completely to the prison-like confinements of dreadful married life…pah! The poor fellow though; I did try to warn him- but then, truly, it_ is _his own fault for deciding not to listen…_ He sniffed, adjusting the scarf around his neck as he walked. _It's still quite a shame… love, as far as I've witnessed, apparently does strange things to people. Ah, no matter._

He suddenly came to a halt with a flurry of white dust around his ankles, flicking the map down. Stuffing it into his coat pocket, he keenly eyed the residence before him in search of any blokes guarding the area. Reaching the place had only taken several hours after his regrettable failed attempt at winning over his Boswell, leaving him to now stand alone (much thanks to Watson) in front of his desired location.

Sitting on top of the white blanketed hill was a large stone estate, its black shingled roof covered lightly in snow as well. From where Holmes stood, the place looked to be uninhabited and near deserted, though he knew this to be quite false. All of the windows were either black with darkness, or covered by curtains to prevent anyone from looking inside. Dying ivy had steadily progressed to cover almost one entire wall of the large building, and the gardens looked as if they hadn't been tended to in years. This was probably because the operator of the structure had his hands full with more pressing matters; such as wreaking havoc on the world. One would think this desire would be very time consuming, to say the least.

_Quite a lot of space to hide whatever he's working on,_ Holmes observed, peaking a brow in interest. He looked over his shoulder at the small village behind him with a small frown. Despite his dismal attitude towards Watson at the moment, he couldn't help but to feel a pang of loneliness without the good doctor trailing behind him. At least when he was accompanied, Holmes would have someone to bounce ideas off of… or to impress.

Earlier that day, the fact hadn't been quite as heavy upon his thoughts; the very moment Watson had stepped onto the carriage that would lead him away to what was quite obviously a horrifically boring trip, Holmes had sprinted up the staircase, apologizing distractedly after nearly running poor Mrs. Hudson over. He'd quickly thrown on a disguise, his disappointment with Watson's refusal to come along temporarily erased by a burst of vigor and excitement over his case.

After sticking a long, dark beard on his face and throwing on additional layers of mismatched clothing, along with stealing one of Watson's hats as a small payback, he'd stampeded back down the staircase, apologizing in the same distracted manner as he nearly ran into his "nanny" by the doorway (who, other than asking in bafflement why he couldn't just walk anywhere like a normal human being, seemed rather unfazed by his lunatic behavior). Ignoring the landlady as she warned him "If you're headed off someplace far keep in mind you haven't eaten a thing since yesterday, Mr. Holmes!" he'd rushed out the door. He'd had a train to catch, after all! So perhaps he hadn't had the time to give the doctor too much thought.

What he'd been _attempting_ to tell Watson was that he'd found a lead on the whereabouts of the one and only Professor James Moriarty—a simple one, but a lead nonetheless. Certainly Holmes already knew of the university the professor taught at, but he more specifically wanted the location of one of the man's more private quarters. There, he was sure to find plenty of valuable information on the criminal lord, and likely would have less prying eyes to watch him as he uncovered it. And really, who in their right mind would hide their plans where dozens of school boys had a chance of discovering them?

It was the thick of the evening now; freezing, harsh and bitter, just as every February was. Holmes pulled his coat closer and tightened his scarf as he watched a small white flurry twirl in the air towards the ground, _I had rather hoped it would wait to snow until I was done… Why must the bloody stuff be so cold?_

After picking the surprisingly none too troublesome lock, he kicked open the gates surrounding the residence with ease. As he began to slush through the thickening ice, Holmes instantly caught sight of a variety of trails of footsteps in the snow. He paused thoughtfully and followed the trails with his gaze; the tracks lead around the house. Stiffening slightly, he adjusted his hat and narrowed his eyes, quickly scanning the sides of the building.

_Well, what do you know?_ His sharp eye had spotted the quickest and smallest of movements near a corner of the house. There were not only people here… but there were people watching him. Several people actually. Now this certainly was a change in outcomes—one of which would make the entire process much more difficult.

Of course he hadn't thought the place would be free of security, oh no— he knew very well how to sneak into buildings and make his leave, unseen and unheard. But what he had not been expecting was men who were already expecting _him_. The detective furrowed his brows, the thought that Moriarty had set up this little situation whizzing through his brain as he headed right back out the gate. Had the Professor actually given him the lead?

While Watson probably would've sighed with frustration at the obstacle, Holmes didn't mind so much at all. In fact, he was itching for this sort of challenge; something to give his mind work. He'd been practically craving a problem to solve. It had been an entire month of so since he'd had an actually _interesting_ case, after all- far too long.

Holmes could see little in the darkness but he was certain he'd been seen by whoever was here, though maybe in his guise they would believe he was merely a beggar searching for shelter. Hoping they weren't the brightest of creatures, that was, along with the proper bit of acting on Holmes' part. With Moriarty it was hard to tell; when you had an entire criminal underworld at your command, the men you could hire had varying degrees of intelligence.

Nonetheless, he'd need to leave for now and plan this out a bit more than he'd thought—getting caught without anyone aware of his disappearance would be a messy predicament he preferred not to get into. Messy, dangerous, and all together something he didn't wish to experience. And, even though this was clearly a set-up, he still wanted to search the surrounding village while he was here—after waiting in the shadows for whatever cronies were here to leave, anyway.

But… how could Moriarty have possibly planned on Holmes locating this place? Did he already know the way the detective worked that incredibly well, this early in the game? If so, Holmes had greatly underestimated his opponent—a mistake he could not afford to make in any game. His slight annoyance was nearly pushed aside by his awe and respect.

_Perhaps it would be best to contact Watson, just in case something goes… amiss_, he determined, turning back to where his footprints had come from. He slipped out of the property as discreetly as possible and made his way down the snow dusted cobblestone, almost immediately spotting a telegraph office. He glanced through one of its windows quickly; the moonlight illuminated an empty room. _Perfect._

He slipped in easily enough through a window and quickly started his telegram to Watson, meaning to inform him that he'd arrived at the estate but that things were going to take a bit longer than expected, along with telling him his exact location. Not wishing to alarm his friend quite yet, though, he planned to include the fact that he hadn't met any trouble yet, and would conclude by wishing him a 'delightful time with Mary'.

Holmes wasn't nearly half finished with his message when his ear picked up the slightest creaking of floorboards near the entrance. He froze and began to reach for the revolver he'd loaded in his breast pocket—before he could even move to draw it, however, something thick and metallic collided with his skull.

Instantly, the small man was knocked down to the ground by the sheer force of the rod, his vision becoming dotted with flying black flecks. His hand flew up to clutch the spot where the unforgiving blow had landed, only to have it flare up in pain. The room dangerously spun itself all the way around before tilting backwards.

A gruff voice briefly cut through his whirling thoughts, somehow halting the room from revolving around him. "The Professor said you might'a been dressed up as som'one else when you tried to weasel 'yer way into his place. Think you're a clever li'l devil, don't ya'? This here is our Sherlock 'olmes, boys… get 'im."

Four normal-sized men entered his vision as they walked slowly into the small, square open floor of the telegram office. Holmes quickly noted that none of them seemed to be carrying weapons to attack with, though the furthest to the right had a knife concealed in his belt and the rest had revolvers in their pockets. The one taller chap who had hit him over the head obviously was armed with a lead pipe, indicating he was considerably strong and muscular. The detective immediately labeled him as the largest threat.

_Definitely not good. Well I_ have _faced similar odds before—what difference will one more man make?_

Holmes, still clutching the now bleeding wound to his head, used the foot of his other palm and his heels to push himself back into the wooden wall. Once his back made contact with the rough surface, he tore off his face bear seeing as his cover was clearly blown (the bloody thing was itchy, anyhow). Then, as quickly as he could muster, he pushed himself to stand. He blinked away the fuzzy stars threatening to swarm his vision with a small grunt.

_Right, well, time to start working out how to take down five blokes, _he thought calmly as his mind began to start up, eyeing each man_. Avoid the big one until the end; save the best for last, of course. The other four look to be less experienced, so I should be able to take them down as long as they don't begin shooting—well before I can, at least._

"Now gentlemen," Holmes started conversationally, raising his open hands in surrender. He took his time speaking, hoping to stall long enough for his temple to stop throbbing, "May I guess you've been sent by Moriarty?"

He curiously looked to each one of their faces, which were busy sending looks to their companions. "I'll take that as a yes."

The bloke on the left, closest to Holmes, rolled his eyes. Only seconds afterwards he threw a sharp punch to the detective's gut.

Holmes dodged the fast attack with equal speed, grabbing the man's wrist and yanking him forwards with a strong grip. As the man tumbled forwards in surprise at the sudden move, Holmes delivered a quick kick to his shin. The Professors man doubled over, and Holmes released the man's arm to whack him on the head, knocking him out cold.

"Now, is that a fine enough example for the lot of you?" Holmes asked casually, turning to the small collection just as the man fell limp on to the floor.

Apparently, it wasn't, for the three other gents stormed forwards, eagerness to take down the smaller man quite evident in their eyes. The man to his left- a lean fellow with a hawk-like nose- grabbed and locked his arm despite the swift punch he received to the jaw, while the one closest to Holmes' right went for his other arm after being elbowed sharply in the stomach. The other one to the right, wearing a bowler hat, immediately unsheathed his pocket knife after both of his wings were clipped.

Holmes struggled valiantly as the tall man watched on with clear amusement on his features. Both of his other opponents locking him had a rather good grip on each of his limbs, their hands surprisingly strong. The detective, however, outnumbered as he was, wasn't about to let this happen to him so easily- he made sure to make his captors jobs' quite difficult.

'Bowler-hat-pocket-knife' came forwards, pointing the blade at Holmes' throat with a warning stare. "Now if you'll come quietly, Mr. 'olmes, that would be quite appreciated," he smiled, revealing many a missing tooth. The teeth that he _did _have were either cracked or crooked. "Just stay still for a bit like a good man, hmm?"

The detective cocked his head slightly, pretending to seriously contemplate this, before jumping back and sending a kick harshly to the fellow's ribcage. The man jerked his knife arm down quickly as he flew back with a grunt, and the knife slit across Holmes' thigh. Holmes stumbled back quickly, holding back a hiss, only to bump into the tallest man. He twisted to turn to the man gripping his left arm, using his heel to dig into his gut. The man let go with a pained gasp, but not before yanking and twisting Holmes' arm at a dangerous angle. Grimacing, Holmes quickly after used his free elbow to try to dig into the side of the man clutching his right arm.

This bloke seemed to see the attack coming, for he stepped out of the way accordingly. The detective temporarily lost his balance and felt gravity begin to pull at his body. However, he managed to push himself back upright by using the wall, just in time to dodge another blow to his shoulder.

He'd nearly forgotten about 'lean hawk-nose man' who'd held his left arm, until he was reminded of his presence when the man's bony fist collided with a spot between Holmes' shoulder blades with full force. The detective fell forwards and caught himself from falling flat on his face with his palms, stiffening in slight shock as the wind was knocked out of him. He tumbled over quickly to avoid any further blows from behind, but as he did he was met with a knee to the jaw. The blow shoved him backwards to be sprawled on his back on the ground.

A heavy, slush-covered boot crashed into his ribs with a sickening crack. Holmes bit his lip as to not cry out as it lifted to land a second time, twisting into him and further crushing his ribs, then again to drill into his stomach. Gasping in an attempt to draw in air, he replied with a forceful kick to the side of 'lean hawk-nose's' other knee, causing the man to howl in pain and curse loudly. Holmes finished him off by grabbing the boot still planted on him and yanking it with all of his strength, sending the man to fall backwards and hit his head on the edge of a table with a crack, rendering him unconscious.

Holmes pushed himself back to his feet quickly as he could manage, his features contorted with pain as he clutched his ribs. He spun around to face the man who had previously held down his right arm and blocked a punch meant to hit him square in the face. To return the favor, he backhanded the furious man's cheek before delivering a jab to his diaphragm. The gent obviously suffered greatly from the blow, but still continued to deliver another hit in the direction of Holmes' hip of which the smaller man dodged. Though he was injured, he was holding his own fairly well considering the odds, he thought to himself.

It was then he allowed himself an incredibly stupid thought to cross his mind; _maybe one man doesn't make quite the difference_. This one second wasted easily could've prevented him from not seeing the tall man with the small lead pipe approaching in the window.

Perhaps he could've stopped it from colliding with his head once again with a deafeningly loud sound. He didn't feel it when he fell to his knees and toppled over, and he didn't see the satisfied smirk that the tall man sent down at him- darkness was quick to fully overtake him and sweep him away.

**Reviews are appreciated ;)**


	2. Chapter 2

"You wished to see me, Professor?"

James Moriarty turned in his seat slowly, offering a pleasant looking enough smile as he leaned forward on his desk. This was quite an unusual welcome. "Good day, Miss Adler. Please… take a seat."

Irene Adler returned the smile out of courtesy, though it only lasted a second or so. Her approach towards her employer was slow but steady. In her year of employment she had learned well that the man, while appearing to be no more harmless than any old university teacher, truly was someone to be feared. Perhaps_ she _didn't quite fear him, but was undoubtedly wary in his presence.

As she approached the desk and chair she discreetly looked about the room, trying to get a good feel for her surroundings— just to have a better idea of what could possibly be used in or against her favor if things were to go wrong. In general, she was at a disadvantage for the area she'd been summoned to was unfamiliar to her; just an isolated little place a mile outside Ipswich. She wasn't so sure she should inquire the reason as to why he'd asked to meet here of all places, but was curious for the answer anyhow.

"Thank you for coming on such short notice, my dear. I apologize for the remote location," Moriarty offered distractedly, clearly not apologetic in the least, as he looked at a trinket on his desk in idle interest. Irene raised her brows ever so slightly and waited for him to elaborate. The man seemed to be in high spirits, and she was admittedly a little nervous as to why. Well, not nervous per say; anxious. Yes, anxious sounded better.

The Professor then switched his gaze to her, a crooked smile still frozen on his face. His eyes skimmed over her though, revealing that he was observing her closely. "I wanted to give you the good news in person—Sherlock Holmes has been successfully captured."

For whatever reason, _that _hadn't been quite what she'd expected. Irene tilted her head to the side in interest, holding his gaze carefully, yet at a slight loss as to how to respond. However, Moriarty's questioning gaze quickly urged her to show a reaction—a positive one.

"Oh?" She gave the man another closed-lipped smile, this one just a tad forced. "He fell for the latest set-up then, I take it."

"Indeed." The Professor clasped his hands together jovially, his eyes never leaving her face. She could feel his scrutiny—she wasn't oblivious to the fact that he had a specific reason for telling her this in person. It was a test for her to show where her loyalties lay. _If only you were more careful before!_Knowing this, she was careful to hide any emotion behind a guarded mask that she watched intently.

After all, that was what actresses did best.

"It all fell together rather well, and the doctor wasn't even with him… I have you in part to thank, Miss Adler. Making certain those homeless children obtained that map assisted my plan well."

Irene nodded once, refraining from letting out a sigh. Holmes had_ really_been dimwitted enough to fall for this? She'd warned him about the Professor for a reason! She'd made it perfectly clear the man was not to be taken lightly or underestimated; she'd thought the detective would take her seriously and be capable enough to thwart a plan like this. And to add to it all, he didn't even think to bring his faithful doctor along with him.

Well whatever Holmes had gotten himself into, he surely deserved it. If he was going to run around making such idiotic decisions… perhaps next time the fool would take care and heed her warning. She was certain he would find his way out of this, after all.

Even as she told herself all of this, she could not quell the small amount of nagging worry beginning to rise within her. _No, you can't afford to think like this. Where has it gotten you so far? Into more trouble, and at the moment, you're in deep enough._

The sound of a door opening broke the thick silence, letting in a wisp of cold air into the still room. Moriarty promptly lifted his head to look over Irene's shoulder, his expression soon glowing eerily with an approving grin. Ms. Adler couldn't help but to turn in her seat hesitantly to see what the Professor was so pleased to see. However, it was rather obvious as to whom and what it was.

Two men sauntered into the room with smug grins, dressed shabbily and leaving wet foot prints on the carpet. The larger of the two lead the way, carrying a smaller man over his shoulder with ease. "Here 'e is, Professor, just like you asked," the shorter one announced triumphantly with a smirk.

As his friend shifted slightly, a rather familiar head of tousled dark hair could be seen over the tall man's shoulder, and Irene had to suppress the urge to groan and roll her eyes. There, bruised and bloody as one could easily see, lying slack and slung over the giant's shoulder like a sack of potatoes, was Sherlock Holmes.

"'e put up quite the fight, took out most of us 'fore we finally shut 'im up with a couple knocks over 'is head. We made sure to sedate 'im too, so he'd stay asleep for 'ya and not make too much of a fuss for a li'l while."

"Excellent work," Moriarty praised, rising from his seat to make his way over to the hired men. His gaze rested on the limp, powerless Holmes and there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes; never before had Irene seen him in such a giddy state. It left her feeling almost disturbed. Almost.

"You want us to get rid of 'im for you right now?" the large man asked in his gruff, low voice. "We'd be more 'an happy to, the li'l bugger gave us more trouble 'an he's worth."

"And what do you, sir, know of worth?" Moriarty replied angrily. The sudden mood change immediately shut the tall man up and sent a foreboding chill down Irene's spine.

After a long winded quiet, The Professor shook his head, walking closer to inspect Holmes' unmoving form. As quickly as he'd snapped, a calm expression took over his angered one. Eyeing the dark blood matted in the detective's hair with a smirk, he said with a leer, "No, no, I'll be keeping him alive for a bit, as I've told you. I have my own plans for how he'll go… You and the others may collect your reward once you've put him in the cell."

The men nodded a beat later and then obediently made their leave after Moriarty gestured to the door with a jerk of his head.

Irene tore her eyes from the doorway to the Professor. Anxious thoughts were now racing through her mind, but she hid them behind a carefully composed face. She really hadn't been all _too_worried when she'd been told he'd been captured, for as easily as Holmes got himself into these kinds of situations, he could get himself out most of the time. But if his condition was as bad as he currently looked, he was in no such state to do so. And Moriarty was so confident—whatever he had planned for Holmes wasn't good at all.

"You'll be rewarded for your participation as well, dear," Moriarty reassured her, taking his seat once again. He began to open a drawer of which she couldn't see and rummaged through it, leaving his gaze upon her.

Irene nodded distantly, feeling troubled as if a weight was now set down upon her. Guilt was it? No, _The_ Woman didn't feel quilt. She lied to and cheated men all the time and never had to feel a thing. Yet, she couldn't get the image out of her head of Holmes lying dead and cold in a cell, with only rats and maggots as witness. _Stop! Don't over think this…_

"And what exactly is it you're planning to do with him?" she asked coolly, drawing out the question slowly. Moriarty looked up, now studying her like a hawk. She was a mouse in an open field—unable to hide and dead if the hawk was hungry.

"You are relieved and dismissed of your duties, Miss Adler. Your contract has been fulfilled. Thank you for your cooperation," he informed her in a suddenly dull tone, apparently choosing to ignore her question.

The lady _should_have been filled with relief and gratefully running for the door, never to look back, yet she didn't even budge from her seat. She hesitated, an action that did not go unnoticed. "Something the matter?" Moriarty inquired. His voice no longer held mirth, and his expression was steely. It was a warning. He wasn't actually curious, of course, he just wanted her to quietly make her leave. Despite this obvious fact, Irene couldn't help but to feel chilled at the sudden change.

And then it happened. "Are you certain killing him is your…_ best _option?" she asked before she could stop herself. Inwardly, she cursed herself vehemently, a voice screaming at her that she might as well have been signing her death warrant. Those who challenged Moriarty's methods did not normally leave unscathed, more or less even alive. She forced herself to keep going now that she'd already started; fix the blunder. "Perhaps… you can use him? Force him into assisting you? I'm sure he'd be of great use, after all you yourself said that he was—" Irene was interrupted by a slowly raised hand and a dark, none too amused chuckle.

"You're a brave woman, Miss Adler—I'll give you that. When I dismiss an employee I expect them to leave my presence, not to linger and question my methods," Moriarty said stonily. His face was a steely mask. "But I will answer you to satisfy your sudden curiosity—I have no fantasies of getting him to use his brilliant mind for my gain. While he intrigues me, he's proved to be far too great of a threat to my plans—threats are to be eliminated from the equation as early as possible. No, I will not keep him alive."

He stood up and stepped to stand in front of her now, appearing to study her. He shook his head ruefully and tsked as if she were a small child who'd gotten into trouble. She stiffened in her seat and straightened her posture, meeting his gaze with the straightest faced mask she could conjure. "Just as I expected… it's quite apparent to me that you've succumbed to your feelings for him. Your reaction made that all too clear. I was even going to allow you to leave, though… you lost your chance." He hummed in though, looking away from her now as he paced the room.

_Don't think that I still won't try. _Irene quickly stood up and went for the door, her mind spinning and seeming to make everything around her a blur. When her hand closed around the cold door knob, however, she found it to be locked tightly. Her heart beat quickened and pounded loudly. She stared at her hand, frozen on the knob.

"Seeing as you're no longer of any use to me, and I don't want to risk you going off and alerting anyone of Holmes' whereabouts…"

The door suddenly opened once again, its sheer force surprising her as the knob hit her square in the stomach and sent her stumbling backwards. Before she could get to her feet once again, the two men were at her sides almost instantly, firmly taking each of her arms. Irene glared at the men, and then at Moriarty. The both of them knew perfectly well she could probably fight them off, but a part of her told herself to do so would be very much in vain.

She'd failed his test—miserably, she might add. Why had she even opened her mouth? She'd had the opportunity to _leave_! What duty of hers was it to make sure Sherlock stayed alive? Now the both of them were in this mess… she aimed the blame at Holmes, though she knew deep down he would never have asked her to defend him. In fact, he probably would've protested if she tried.

Moriarty continued to pace, stroking his chin with his hand thoughtfully. "You can share his fate and join your dear detective in death. Consider it mercy. What a shame though… You _were_quite helpful to me before Mr. Holmes came along. I'm sorry it's come to this, truly my dear, but if there's anything you should have learned about me," he met her eyes with a resolute stare, "it's that I cannot afford to leave loose ends… Good day." His expression turned cold, sneering before he turned back to face his desk.

The men led her out of the room without another word, and Irene felt her insides drop when she saw where she was being led. She stubbornly fought back a couple of times, but quickly realized that both men, their grips firm as steel, were much stronger than she had guessed. There would be no escaping this time.

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	3. Chapter 3

Holmes wearily opened his eyes, and immediately squeezed them back shut; the movement had hurt his head. Badly. He involuntarily let out a soft groan, his head lolling to the side. Slowly he gathered that he was in an unfamiliar place, chilly and dimly-lighted.

"Why izzit hard t' move…" he slurred drowsily, furrowing his brows. He wasn't certain why he'd asked that aloud. Perhaps because there was seemingly a strange feel or presence of some sort in the air… no, that sounded quite stupid; illogical.

As he came to his senses, it registered that his hands were chained somewhere above his head. _Ah. Not good._

"Because you were sedated," drawled a bored, feminine voice. Holmes started, biting back a hiss of pain when his eyes opened once more. He was greeted with the sight of Irene Adler standing only feet away, looking down her nose at him with her lips pursed. "And perhaps also because you were hit in the head," the lady added a tad bit ruefully when Holmes only blinked at her.

"What…mph," Holmes grunted, struggling against his drowsiness to straighten himself where he sat. The pain in his wrists hit him suddenly; his weight must have been supported by them for a few hours now. The skin was raw and chafed, but he could not yet tell if they were bleeding.

Such a nuisance, head injuries were; terribly inconvenient. No wonder his normally outstanding deduction abilities felt so… slow. Ah, no matter, he'd simply shake it off in good time. He'd certainly dealt with worse-

"I _said_that you were hit in the head," Irene snapped in seemingly sudden aggravation. Holmes shot her a glare, hiding his surprise at her impatience with him; and frankly, his general surprise at even seeing her here.

"There is hardly a need to be so rude, my dear," he said through gritted teeth as he struggled to his feet. "Perhaps if you let me think—" He paused to exhale sharply, closing his eyes tightly as his wrists cried out in painful protest to being pulled against the metal cuffs.

"Oh, there's not?" Irene asked in a mockingly sweet voice. "Well, it isn't as if we're chained down in a cell or anything. No! The last time I checked there was a _splendid_reason- you were careless enough to let yourself be captured by the most devious man on the continent!" Her eyes were shifting around the room as she spoke. "Now you're exactly where he wants you- just look at the mess we're in."

Holmes turned to her to raise a brow. "_We_? I wasn't aware my capture had a thing to do with you. In fact, I would have rather suspected since you are _working_for Moriarty, you'd be somewhat behind it."

"Well, well," she replied, pulling in vain at her bonds as she raised her chin high and looked him straight in the eye, "apparently even you are wrong sometimes."

His response was to simply turn away from her and test his legs. The strange sensation one felt when blood rushed back to its normal flow made his limbs feel numb. No, he'd have to wait even longer for that effect to wear off as well. Instead he decided upon observing their surroundings, seeing if he could begin to make progress on planning any sort of escape.

Frustration rose within him at how long it was taking him to take everything in. His mind should have been starting up by now, revealing to him the smallest of nicks on the walls and precisely what put them there. However, when he stared at the small scrapes and bits of rusting on the metal chains, nothing happened. Bloody head injuries…

He refrained from wincing as a loud, rhythmic pounding echoed inside his aching head.

Irene had rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored him completely. "Yes, _we_need to figure something out before the Professor comes," she insisted firmly; the panic in her voice was only barely discernible. While quite soft, it was notable, nonetheless.

Suddenly it clicked- the Woman was on edge. He'd detected the fear in her tone, even though she'd attempted to mask it as irritation towards him. While his eyes adjusted to the dim lighting, he noticed with a bit of alarm that she was chained as well.

"Irene," he said, his voice softening, "…why _are_you in here with me?"

Irene let out a sarcastic and sharp laugh, brushing her chocolate curls away from her face with the turn of her head. "It wouldn't matter, now would it? Explaining couldn't possibly assist us in getting out of here. We can't waste our time storytelling."

"Please, dear—"

"It means nothing."

"That depends," Holmes answered slowly, still holding the quiet quality of his voice. Now she was panicking. This was not good, either. If she was beginning to be frightened, then whatever was the cause for her fear was certainly something to be considered. The Woman was a formidable force in her own right, and not easily shaken; that, Holmes knew.

He started again, more forcefully than before, "Tell me what's happening. Yes, obviously Moriarty is involved; but why here? What does he have planned, and what could he possibly gain from putting you down here, as well? You must tell me what you know, Irene."

The lady simply sighed and made a point to ignore him- yet again. "I've tried to think of a way out, but we can only move so far with the chains- there is only a door to the side of us, and the pipe in the ceiling. There's a window up there as well, which makes me think we're under ground," she said, avoiding his gaze. Holmes had already taken all of this in, however; his mind buzzing, he'd quickly scanned the square cell they were in. He was directly across from Irene, and to the left of him there was indeed a door; and, in the center of the ceiling, the small and round opening of a pipe right next to a circular glass port hole.

Holmes leaned against the wall behind him for support, deciding it would likely be slightly more productive to just go along with her. After all, he could feel the wheels turning in his head once more. "Peculiar, however simple; and that may just be what he wishes us to think. He either plans to send a chemical of some sort through the opening, or perhaps… water?" A click echoed throughout the small cell, and the pair whipped their heads towards the now open doorway.

"Indeed Holmes," Moriarty said, his grin revealing his crooked teeth. With his hands behind his back, he strode into the cell, an almost excited sort of bounce in his step. The Professor gestured to the pipe looking down at the floor, bent like a viper peering down upon its prey. "I thought water to be the perfect method; it's clean, it's slow and as a personal sort of touch, you'll have the entertainment of watching one another die. Not to mention how long it'll take as you watch your deaths approach at a painstaking speed. "

The appearance of the criminal genius increased the urgency of the situation, and his words carried an eerie chill into the room.

_Don't let him see that you're beginning to feel outmatched- don't allow him to believe he has the upper hand._Holmes kept a neutral face, though his mind and heart were starting to work in overtime.

There really were no visible ways for them to escape; they had nothing to use, and they couldn't travel at all from where they stood. He wouldn't be able to reach Irene, no matter what he tried. Very little could be accomplished unless they were freed of their bonds. And even if they /were/ to escape the shackles, the door seemed bolted and locked, and the window was likely sealed shut and layered so that one couldn't break it.

The odds were certainly against them… though that had yet to stop Holmes before.

"It does seem particularly like your type of plan, I must say," he mused calmly, as if they were merely discussing the weather. _Distraction is your greatest tactic at the moment; keep him talking while you think. _"Eliminating your greatest enemy- as I assume I've earned that title, yes? – with a torture not quite as physical as it is mental; for the worst part of drowning is the sheer panic it instills."

The Professor grinned again, Holmes' calm exterior only seeming to further spur his amusement. "Ah, and that's the beauty of it. The ever -cocky Sherlock Holmes, the 'fearless' detective who's given me so much trouble all of this time will die in fear… and I won't even need to lay a hand on you." The man chuckled, shaking his head to himself as he looked at Holmes with something akin to admiration. The detective, overpowered as he started to feel, stood as straight and tall as his aching and heavily bruised body would allow him. _The man is completely at ease- he's extremely confident that his plan is foolproof. This is not looking good._

"Might I advise not killing us?" Holmes asked nonchalantly, glancing at the pipe once again. "I mean, yes, getting rid of a threat is by all means a great plan but I believe if we die, you lose as well."

The other genius stared at him quizzically. "Is that so?"

"You'll be awfully bored when I'm not around, you realize. After all, I've heard rumor that you have even went so far as to dub me near equal to you. How kind, really, I do appreciate it. But with me out of the picture, where's the thrill of it all? How can anything else possibly be as entertaining as I?" He ended with his eyebrows raised in questioning, mind still buzzing as it looked for a hint to the answer of the puzzle they were trapped in.

"My, my…" Moriarty hummed, obviously in a jovial mood, "Don't be concerned about me, though; I have many things already set in motion that I believe will hold my attention fairly well. I must admit that it's been great fun competing with my wits against a man like you. But all games do end eventually, as you know." The Professor slowly paced back and forth between Holmes and Adler, his attention at the moment solely on the detective. In the back of his mind Holmes was reminded of a venomous spider, crawling hungrily towards the flies it'd caught in its web. "And I'm afraid I grew tired of playing."

"I have some rather inconvenient news for you then," Holmes replied airily, not once dropping the Professor's gaze, "because I've decided I'm not quite ready to end our game: you see, I don't plan on losing."

"My apologies, but I don't think that option is available to you now." Moriarty eyed Holmes steadily for a moment, considering his boldness, then stepped back so he was a bit closer to Irene. "You know… another especially useful fact to know about your enemy is what it is they hold dear," the Professor said lowly, turning fully to Irene now as she squirmed the slightest bit. "For _that _is their weakness."

The Woman met his gaze stonily, tossing her dark curls away from her face with an angry flick of her head. Holmes felt worry worm its way into him as he watched Moriarty, forcing his expression to remain neutral. The increasing rate of his pounding heart now matched the throbbing of his head.

He decided at that moment that if nothing else, he needed to make certain she would make it out alive. By the way it was looking, the Professor had put her here purely for Holmes' emotional distress. And simply, that wasn't quite fair to her.

_You fool, of course you want to save her for other-_

"As for you, Miss Adler," the criminal sighed with disapproval, tsking in a mocking fashion, "I will only say that it's a great shame you ended up in this messy situation. You needn't have shared the fate of our friend here. As I'd said before, you truly were a great asset; an invaluable employee indeed-well save 'till recently... You will be difficult to replace."

He tilted his head to the side in idle thought as Irene glared daggers at him. "Having emotional attachments really is blinding, even deadly in this case, is it not?" he mused, turning briskly from the lady and striding towards the entrance. He paused in the doorway, glancing back over his shoulder to meet her eyes. "Apparently you learned that lesson a bit too late, my dear, despite how I tried to warn you."

Holmes was staring at Irene now, his eyes wide, but she did not look at him; she tore her gaze from Moriarty to the faraway wall, her jaw firmly set and chin lifted high.

That was it, then. She was not in here solely because Moriarty suspected Holmes cared for her; she'd probably protested for his sake. He didn't quite know how he should react to this fact, so he decided on momentarily pushing it aside.

A fact such as this should have been trivial compared to the amount of danger they were currently in... But he still felt as though all he could do was stare for a moment or so, stunned.

"Regrettably I can't stay to chat any longer- I just wanted to be a proper host and say my farewells," the Professor announced, turning back to face them and placing his hand on the doorknob. "I won't be going far though, as I have a front row seat to the show," he exclaimed merrily, gesturing towards the window in the ceiling.

Holmes shot him a look of pure loathing. _I was aware he was devious, but this is truly sickening. The man is going to sit and watch us drown like some kind of performance._

The door was closed gently with a loud booming noise followed by several clicks. The Professor's whistled tune could be heard for a few moments until it faded into the distance, until only heavy silence filled the cell.

"… He is ever the charmer," Irene finally muttered, still not looking at Holmes. Holmes however kept his eyes on her face.

"Irene… you… "

A low, faraway rumbling noise was heard from above, and Irene whipped her gaze to the ceiling. Holmes' jaw tightened, readying himself for what surely was about to come.

_THINK. My ingenuity is truly lacking this evening. I'm nearly out of time-_-

Finally, Irene blue eyes met Holmes' dark ones, and for the very first time he saw panic in them.

"Brace yourself against the wall, dear," he ordered urgently; for a split second later, water was forcefully rushing from the pipe above into the cell.

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	4. Chapter 4

Watson laughed in light amusement at a joke Mr. Morstan was telling, his stomach full with the delicious lunch they'd just indulged in. Mary gave him a small, pleased smile from across the table, and he returned it with a soft smile of his own. Thankful that both her and her parents seemed to approve of him, he was beginning to feel more at ease with his soon to be in-laws as time drew by.

True, they'd already been here a day, but now he finally was able to worry less about every single word he spoke. And as pleasant as it had been, spending much needed time with his fiancé, a tiny part of the doctor was bored (of course Holmes would never be told this, even if he asked.)

Not to say the time hadn't been lovely so far, because really, it had. Not only did it give him time to relax and get a taste of a normal, domestic life with polite and_ sane_ company, it also provided him a small break from fretting over Holmes' safety (both against the criminals they faced and the detective's own self-destructive habits). But Watson couldn't help but feel a bit guilty over the manner in which he'd departed from his friend, and wonder what sort of adventure he was missing out on. He'd argued vehemently that this trip was too important to not go on, but later that day he'd begun second-guessing.

Realizing that this trip pleased Mary, however, had vanquished those doubts. Holmes could surely take care of himself this one time.

Snapping himself out of his thoughts, Watson tuned back into a story Mrs. Morstan was currently telling, nodding in polite interest. He finished his tea and again met Mary's gaze with a smile. He engaged yet again in small talk as the topic turned to the weather, something Holmes often said was the most normal and boring subject. This one fact even caused a small grin to tug at the doctor's lips as he listened.

At the end of their lunch, as Mr. and Mrs. Morstan left the table to travel to the living room, a servant appeared in the doorway. "A telegram for a Dr. Watson," the man announced, and Watson crinkled his brows as he stood to receive it. Now, who would be sending him a message? Certainly not his colleagues, for the only one who knew where he was located was…_ Holmes_, he told himself before he even sat back down to read the message, groaning inwardly. That man! Could he not wait another day? He was such a child when it came to Watson going anywhere. If the detective was contacting him just to convince the doctor to come back early…

Mary looked to her fiancé expectantly as he read, watching his expression go from irritated to confused to rather concerned. "A telegram? Who is it from, John?"

"Holmes," Watson said shortly, suddenly rising from his seat again, "and judging by what he said and the fact that he didn't get to finish it, I think he's gotten into trouble." His tone was frustrated, but Mary could detect the slight worry present in it. She furrowed her brows in alarm.

Watson stood there uncertainly for a moment, seeming to briefly debate what to do, but to his surprise Mary rose and put an understanding hand on his shoulder after a brief moment. She smiled warmly to reassure him she was fine with the sudden change in plans. "Well then you'd better go find him, love, and be careful. I rather hoped he would be at our wedding," she added, raising one of her eyebrows.

John looked to his bride-to-be with clear gratitude. "Mary, darling, I'm so terribly sorry. I really tried to tell him to be careful, but he never—"

"It's alright, darling," she stressed, leaning closure.

The doctor sighed, patting her hand in thanks. Holding her dainty hand gently, he looked into her eyes, "I'll come back as soon as I can, once I figure out what sort of mess he's gotten himself into."

He kissed his beloved goodbye and, after grabbing his hat and coat and apologizing hastily to her parents and thanking them for their hospitality, he was out the door, shaking his head. Of course the detective would manage find a way to disrupt his peaceful visit, intentional or not. _So much for that break from fretting over Holmes' safety…_

_. . ._

The water landed loudly on the concrete with a slap, spraying flecks of water at their feet. Within several seconds, a puddle was steadily beginning to grow on the floor. Though neither the detective nor the thief would admit it, they were both instantly struck with a sudden sensation of danger. While the puddle was not yet large enough to be a reasonable threat (it couldn't even cover the entire floor), the cold spray from the falling water was enough to make Irene turn her head away to avoid it getting in her eyes.

She raised her voice so that it was loud enough to get over the sound of water smacking concrete, words now slightly breaking and showing signs of her alarm, "This would be a good time to start being brilliant!" She glanced down at the hem of her magenta silk dress, now sporting wet dots.

_Right. First, to find a way out of these bonds. No, they're secured much too tightly to be able to pull through—that is, without breaking any bones. Might want to think of something else…_ "Do you have any hair pins?" Holmes asked, his vision fixed on the small waterfall that rained from above. He squinted as its spray hit his eyes, "You might be able to pick it… Oh, how did he know? They're German locks. You didn't tell him, did you, darling?"

"No!" Irene tried to stand herself up on tip-toe so that her head would be closer to where her hands were chained. Then, with much vigor, she attempted to grab at her curls. Unfortunately, from the angles that her wrists were held it was nearly impossible. After several more fruitless seconds she finally gave up, exhaling loudly in frustration. "Are your chains weak enough to attempt to pull from the wall? They're rusted a bit in the middle."

Holmes shook his head briefly as he glanced at the puddle beginning to grow deeper and wider. "I'll try..." _Not a good idea, especially since I'm regrettably not in top physical condition at the moment..._ He rolled his aching shoulders, wincing at the sharp pain this movement sparked. He realized he was sporting some deep bruises from those brutes. Though still, he found himself making an honest attempt at lunging forwards and pulling at his restraints with all the strength he could muster.

An angry attack of agony quickly flooded his entire body after he attempted this, causing the whole room to tilt to one side. He all at once felt every injury, bruise and cracked bone he'd obtained from Moriarty's lackeys. Quickly he went limp for a moment, falling back into the wall, his wrists now bleeding. Hazy, black spots briefly clouded his vision, colors swimming in between. "A-Any weapons in that—that dress of yours of which y-you might be able t' retrieve?" he gasped, forcing his face to remain slack as he didn't want to alarm her with the extent of his injuries.

"'Fraid not," she responded softly, her voice lowered a bit as she witnessed the pain that had obviously overtaken him.

With a diminished nod, Holmes looked up, the burning sensation that filled him beginning to lessen. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to completely ignore the biting pain in his arms- he needed his mind clear. _Block it out. You've endured worse. Focus, now._ He looked up to survey the metal which bound his arms. _Hmm… the silvery coloring means that it's iron- rather old iron, in fact._ "Dear, can you tell if there is salt present in the water? It seems to be going to your side a bit more."

"Yes, of course I can with my feet!" she shot back sarcastically.

Holmes simply continued to look to the cuffs restraining him. "Well then… I guess we have to wait. If the water does in fact contain salt, we can wait until its high enough to reach the chains. As they seem to be already rusted and weakened, we can probably pull them off once they've been reduced further. Since your manacles look to be reasonably older, I assume you may have to help me pull away mine."

He narrowed his eyes at the window above to see if he could catch sight of anyone- he couldn't get too long of a look upwards without being sprayed in the eyes. "For now we should get to work thinking about how to open that window- that is if Moriarty doesn't have any sort of guard ready to shoot us on the spot up there. Can you swim, dear?"

Irene visibly calmed down at the hint of a possibility of escape, though uncertainty still lingered in her eyes. Fear was there too, which was quite odd for the detective who had never seen any more than the slightest bit from The Woman. It managed to hammer the fact that the odds of living were quite slim, and hit him with a wave of some unidentifiable emotion… Guilt, perhaps?

"Yes, I can swim fair enough," she answered, the volume of her voice lessened. "But what if—what happens if it's fresh water?" Her blue eyes hit him, wide and hesitant.

Holmes blinked at her, drawing a blank in his deck of emotions. "Then we… we need to be able to hold our breaths for as long as possible." It was simple really, but why was it that he felt bad as he spoke?

She shouldn't even have been there… this was never her battle in the first place. He was a fool for being played right into this madman's hands, and she shouldn't have had to pay the price along with him.

_Her chances of survival: slightly higher than mine. If the water turns out to contain salt then she'll have the opportunity to pull free from her chains, as hers are indeed more aged. If nothing else, she will escape. She will be fine- The Woman will survive_. He nodded to himself once in an attempt to convince himself this was all cold, hard fact—rather than the uncertain possibility it really was.

By this point, the puddle had managed to fill the entire bottom of the cell. The water was now at Holmes' ankles, soaking into his leather shoes and soaking the socks he wore as well. Irene's heeled boots did little to help her from getting her feet wet as well, for the water easily seeped into the material before long.

Both shivered from the chill of it, shifting uncomfortably where they stood. The water was climbing centimeter by centimeter higher with foreboding as it noisily slapped against the stone walls.

Suddenly, the room was quiet.

Irene and Holmes both whipped their heads towards the pipe in puzzlement, surprised to see that the water had indeed stopped flowing.

"Must he insist on making this even more torturous than necessary?"

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	5. Chapter 5

Several moments ticked on by without either of the pair speaking, both eyeing the dripping pipe uncertainly. Each drop was like a grain of sand in an hour glass, threatening the inevitable approach of the end. It hit the deep puddle with an echoing tap, sending circular ripples to scurry throughout the pool. Irene breathed heavily as she watched them, clearly trying to distract herself from her own racing thoughts.

Holmes instead glanced up to look through the window, believing he could distinguish the form of Moriarty looking down upon them. There was a dark, blurred outline that seemed to match his physicality closely enough. But really, who else would be watching two people drown for entertainment? Holmes could already picture the amused expression on the man's weathered face as their lungs screamed desperately for air, and all that remained of them was the bubbles rising to the surface of the water; the Professor chuckling in good nature as if someone had just told him a rather good joke.

"Oh, how lovely. This is precisely how I hoped my evening would go," Irene sighed with a hint of sarcasm, frowning at her ruined boots in disdain. The tenseness to her tone, while lessened, was still present.

"Mm, well living the lifestyle you do should have taught you to expect the possibility of things not going according to plan, darling," Holmes mumbled back, tilting his head at her with a half-smile in an attempt to lighten the mood. He wishes for a dramatic show from us and, sadly for him, I won't allow that to happen.

Irene closed her eyes, obviously wishing that she could smile back. She whipped a damp curl off of her face and leaned back against the wall. "I do wish he'd not draw this out…" Her voice grew quiet suddenly, with an edge of bitterness. "Best to get it over with, don't you think?"

Holmes hummed in agreement. "I do wonder what reaction he expects to see from us—falling into hysterics perhaps?" he muttered sarcastically. "That's quite obviously not either of our styles." He shot an annoyed look towards the window as he was certain the Professor would be able to see it. I wonder how well he can hear us, if at all; and how he could possibly manage to through stone walls.

"You're certain there's not another possible escape plan?" Irene inquired, opening her eyes and looking to Holmes thoughtfully. She seemed to have gained back a bit more of her usual poise and self-control without the current threat of running water. "I've tried myself, but there really seems to be, well, no possibilities."

The detective shook his head in slight frustration. "I've already attempted to explore all our other options- there are none. He's made sure we have very little to work with, I'm afraid," he admit. "Our plan is the only one available to us. Though I haven't decided whether he purposely left this window of opportunity open or not."

"Well that's wonderful considering we're not even sure it'll work," Irene said slowly, eyes darting around the room ever so often, seeming to gain the hope that there surely was some other way of escape. Though just as quick as it came, her gaze would return back to the dripping water, and she seemed to lose her one spurt of optimism.

The Professor must have quickly gotten bored of witnessing them converse— their level of panic was not yet high enough for his liking, so it appeared—for he apparently decided it was time for the next round of water. The all too familiar rumbling from above shook the walls and grew louder until it resembled a roar just before water once again erupted noisily from the pipe. The stream crashed down on the still pool loudly, shattering the reflective mirror.

It seemed to be even more forceful than before; the speed at which the water crawled up their bodies and seeped through their clothes seemed to intensify. There went their shins…their knees…their thighs… And the cold; the freezing rawness that soaked through both clothing and skin gnawed away at the strength left in Holmes' body. With little to no control over the situation, his bottom jaw began to tremble as well as his knees.

Resigning himself to the fact that from this point he only needed to wait, Holmes rested his head back against the wall. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Don't fret about her; it only slows down your mind. Concentrate on the water. Are there any cuts on your legs? Anything that would sting in irritation if the water contained salt?

Irene involuntarily shivered as well, the water hungrily soaking into her heavy dress. Yet again, likely to give herself something else to focus on, she struggled in vain against her bonds. The extra weight of the fabric was pulling her down considerably, something of which immediately came to Holmes' attention.

"I certainly never imagined I'd go this way," the lady mused with a small pout, though she said it so quietly it was difficult to make out over the constant thrashing of waves.

"Don't sound so resigned, darling—we still have a chance." Holmes snapped his eyes open to observe the waist-high water engulfing them, only to be splashed thoroughly in the face. The force of the small waves was enough to push them slightly from side to side, occasionally threatening to carry them off their feet.

There was a silence, save for the crashing of water around them. Holmes felt her light blue eyes upon him and so he looked up in question. Irene had dropped her pout, and met his eyes with a look that clearly read 'I think you and I both know how little that chance is'.

Of course, she would not say this aloud, but he was taken aback by the honesty of her expression. The Woman never demonstrated emotions this openly, not even silently, and certainly not to him. Her guard was forever up, just as his was.

Holmes blinked once, quickly averting his eyes from her and back to the water now covering most of his body. At once, a faint tingling sensation nagged at his upper thigh. It pained him very little but—that meant it was…

He spoke aloud as the thoughts whizzed through his brain. "I will presume for now that the water is brackish- a mixture of fresh and salt water. It has irritated a small cut I received while fighting the Professor's goons. While the pain is not as strong as it would be if the water were completely salt, it indicates that it's a combination." He paused, eyes glued to the water. He ignored the numbness in his feet. "In which case, I…" he caught himself speaking very softly, and so he cleared his throat and raised his voice so Irene could hear him once again, "I do not know whether or not there will be enough to… enough salt to…" He could not finish, furrowing his brows at himself for this sudden strange lack of control over his voice.

What if the chains can't be weakened enough? The question repeated itself maddeningly in his head, echoing louder and louder each time, beating in time with his pulse.

He'd nearly met his own death at point-blank range before, countless times now—but never before had he been this suddenly stricken with helplessness. For it was now an actual statement; a calculated fact. He had a strong probability of dying- and dying without seeing Watson a last time, who was happily drinking tea on the other side of England.

His fear wasn't for his own sake though; the threat of his own death ceased to ever really faze him (well until this moment, anyhow) a fact he knew angered his Boswell frequently. But he was for a moment frozen at the idea that if they did not make it, he'd have indirectly had a hand in The Woman's death. The only woman he'd even come close to lov-… ahem, caring for.

Normally he was able to keep his head in these types of situations by simply detaching himself emotionally from others involved- save for Watson and, apparently, Irene.

No… that night that he'd saved her at the butchery, something other than 'fighting for justice' and 'doing what's right' drove him to make certain she made it out alive. This time though, there was no way for him to change what he knew was coming. A train was furiously and speedily coming to hit him and wipe out his existence- and he couldn't even shield her from it, couldn't even run.

To his own great surprise— even though it was only for a split second—he, Sherlock Holmes, was terrified.

"Sherlock," Irene snapped impatiently when Holmes failed to continue. The exclamation thrust Holmes back into the present, releasing him from his inner turmoil. The Woman was eyeing the water that had now climbed to her neck with worry, lifting her chin to avoid it. Her lips had a bluish tint by this point, and her skin was paler than before.

"Ah, yes, my apologies," he said, forcing his normal, cocky tone, yet still avoiding her gaze of slight concern of which he reciprocated. "I was trying to say I am uncertain as to whether there will be enough salt in the water to rust our chains." Just as Watson told that patient that he was probably going to die of that infection.

She continued to watch him without saying a word. Holmes felt a strange, unfamiliar ache in his chest. Her lack of a retort told him enough- she was giving up. He opened his mouth to console her and then closed it again- for he couldn't promise her anything. She didn't need his fake comforts anyhow, he knew. Besides, he couldn't attempt to falsely console her as he would any other woman—she was too smart for that. Irene realized the truth as well as he, and perhaps even before he did.

He struggled to keep his footing as he was suddenly pushed to the right. He grabbed the chains right above his cuffs to hoist himself higher from the water. His arms protested in sharp agony, though they obeyed all the same.

"I'm sorry," he whispered; hollow, defeated. Quickly, however, he realized she couldn't hear him at all, and so he raised his voice over the furious crashing of the water and said again, "I'm so sorry, my dear."

Irene bit her lip, apparently unable to decide how to respond and so she just fiercely shook her head back and forth. Holmes watched her as the strange ache inside of him intensified. "I'm sorry…" he repeated weakly, his ever-confident exterior cracking finally. He could not think of anything to get them out this time, his mind would not respond; he couldn't protect them.

It was rather stupid, and he knew it, but a part of him wished he wasn't bound. Not even to escape, not for comfort, but just to be able to hold her. He was aware that she didn't need the reassurance but he wanted it. It was too cruel to be separated by the unforgiving space and water, facing her yet out of reach as their death approached; he felt the overwhelming need to kiss her, now of all times. If perhaps they weren't to make it out alive, at least he'd be able to hold the memory of her embrace as the water would fill his body.

He coughed as an angry wave of water flicked and splashed up past his neck into his mouth, abruptly pulling him from his thoughts. Yes, there is some salt in this. Across the room Irene was pulling herself up as high as she possibly could with her chains to prevent her head from ducking under completely. It was a battle to keep from going under and to stay in one place; now that the water was so high they were easily swept off their feet and shoved any way the sharp waves wanted them to go.

"Sherlock, I'm afraid I don't see why you're apologizing," Irene called out after a gasp for air. Holmes watched as she took a deep, steady breath before she briefly went under the water, gasping and whipping away her wet hair when she bounced back to resurface. "But if you really feel that badly, you can make it up to me by taking me to dinner," she suggested with a slight tremor in her voice, fighting with all of her strength to stay up.

She managed to give Holmes a shaky smile and, after staring for a moment, he could not help but give one in return. Ah… now that's the Irene I know.

His head suddenly bobbed once under. After resurfacing he sputtered loudly, replying, "Will eight o'clock this evening be convenient for you, darling?" The numbingly cold water slid down the sides of his face, biting him as it went.

"Perfect," Irene panted, squeezing her eyes shut as her face was angrily splashed by water. Her whole body gave a frightfully strong tremor. "H-How about the Royale, then?"

"Perhaps I'll-I'll take you somewhere even n-nicer," Holmes replied with a watery cough, holding his breath before the next wave overtook him. He was growing weary, and fast- his already battered body was quickly being sapped of its remaining strength. He gritted his teeth, tensing his arms to remain pulled up and above the water. He gurgled out all the icy liquid that had managed to fill his mouth, shivering intensely. Hypothermia in the middle of winter should've occurred to me much earlier than now…

This time around, it took longer for The Woman to bounce back up and break through the surface. "Sounds lovely," she sputtered, her diminishing strength apparent in her voice. She held eye contact with Holmes once more. "I sh-should expect nothing less from you though; after all, I don't fall in love with just any fool," she informed him quietly.

If she had ever said such a thing before he would have been immediately suspicious- but now, there were no tricks behind her words, no scheme of hers that he had to guess at, no hidden intentions. Despite their growing exhaustion, Holmes felt his insides twist.

"And I only really regard one single woman as mattering, my dear," he said lowly, his jaw set firmly as he watched her go under once more. To say it didn't hurt him slightly would be a lie.

At once he was pulled under completely as well; arms screaming at him and weak all over now, he had no choice but to relax them. He had no idea if Irene was still able to stay surfaced- he could not even see her outline from under the water. He held his breath firmly but no longer had the strength to stay above.

Suddenly, though, all noise around him stopped. Everything was quiet. From underneath the water, Holmes watched as the bubbles from where the stream met the pool stopped. Drowsily he wished to contemplate the reason behind this- but his body demanded rest. For now, he closed his eyes, finding that he was drifting away…

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**Yes, more evil cliffhangers. Thank you everyone for your reviews! They really make both of us happy ;) We'd really appreciate if you told us what you thought of this chapter as well! **

**You know what to do...**


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